


All the Good Things

by Mab (Mab_Browne)



Category: The Sentinel
Genre: Community: sentinel_thurs, Domestic Fluff, M/M, Sentinel Thursday Challenge
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-27
Updated: 2014-08-27
Packaged: 2018-02-14 23:24:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 918
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2206971
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mab_Browne/pseuds/Mab
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Blair lays down the (sartorial) law. </p>
<p>Fluff. Written for Sentinel Thursday</p>
            </blockquote>





	All the Good Things

**Author's Note:**

> A couple of weeks back at the Sentinel chat, conversation turned to the guy's clothes and mention was made of those awful brown trousers/pants that Jim wore in some episodes. I had a wee ping of this idea back then but it wasn't until the phobia challenge came up at Sentinel Thursday that I got my first sentence and from there, the rest of this bit of fluff. So thank you, ladies at the TS chat. :-)
> 
> This story is very mildly edited from its original posting. I have the nagging sensation that my banter is too good for me - if I stole it from you, let me know and I will rewrite (or at least credit...)

"I think I'm developing a phobia to those pants." Jim opened his mouth, perhaps to protest the virtues of said pants, but Blair wasn't giving him a chance. "No, really, man, some things are maybe not my personal thing, but still acceptable life choices. Like you and the R and B fixation, everyone has a music genre they like, you're never going to be a Jane's Addiction sort of guy, that's great. But some things are just wrong. Ugly. Like those pants."

Jim stared a long moment and then looked down at the pants in question. "They're comfortable," he said, and looked straight at Blair with a hint of defiance and more than a hint of amusement.

"Ugly," Blair repeated. "And in this case comfortable is a synonym for practically baggy. It's not the eighties anymore. Plus brown is not a sexy colour. Brown in pants is kind of a crap colour, even."

"Spare us the scatalogical references, " Jim said with a wince.

"Now, you in jeans - that's kind of sexy. You rocking that long, cool, sixties rebel thing, and blue, I like blue, blue is a great colour on you. Or suits. You do formal in a spectacular way, and the contrast between you in a tie, and you out of a tie and everything else, makes a suit really, really sexy. But dark khaki pants." Blair made a vague noise of disgust, and waved his hands in front of him. "I mean, a pair of blue or black chinos, I could go with that, although jeans are better. If you know what I mean." He enlisted his eyebrows to explain what he meant.

Jim was standing over him now, arms crossed, his own eyebrows raised. "Are you done?"

Blair considered the question a moment. "Not until you are out of those pants."

Jim extended a hand. "I think that's doable. Have you ever considered that you're a cheap and excessively chatty drunk, Chief?"

"Hey, if I'd been paying for those drinks, I would not have been a cheap drunk. Excessively chatty, yeah, I'll give you that, which is actually..." Blair stumbled slightly as he tried to stand, and found himself tucked reassuringly against the solidity of Jim's side with Jim's arm wrapped neatly around him. "What was I saying?"

"Excessively chatty," Jim replied.

"Yeah, that's right, which given that alcohol is actually kind of a downer, physiologically speaking..." 

"Disinhibitory is a good word," Jim said, and steered them into the kitchen where he poured Blair a large glass of water and waited for Blair to drink it.

"I taught you that word," Blair said emphatically.

"Yes, you did and it explains why your every little thought is exiting your mouth right now. Bed time. Let the downer thing do its work and then you can wake up to a bright new day and your hangover."

They wandered up the stairs, Blair first, Jim behind and probably watching him like a hawk. At the top, in the bedroom, Blair started undressing and so did Jim, removing (at last) the offending pants.

"So you have a problem with these," Jim said, shaking them out and folding them. Neat; always the neatnik.

"Well, given the recently changed state of things," Blair's gesture incorporated their shared presence in what used to be Jim's bedroom alone, "I figured that I was entitled to an opinion."

"Any more opinions and you'll need to hire storage."

Blair laid himself down on the soft, cool sheets and flipped the bird at Jim. "I'm a visually oriented kind of guy, and I really don't see how me in a state of continuous simmering arousal is to your disadvantage."

"I'll give you that," Jim said, dipping the mattress with his weight. He leaned over Blair. "Although tonight is more like a state of simmering liver damage. You like free drinks on your birthday, and you don't like me in baggy khaki pants.

"Both of these points are true," Blair said.

"More jeans, less brown pants."

"It would be the birthday gift that keeps giving throughout the entire year."

"I'll take it under advisement. Do you have any instructions about my underwear?" Jim wasn't even trying to hide his smile. 

Blair pulled Jim's head down for a kiss. It was slow and sloppy and, if Jim's nose wrinkle was anything to go by as he drew back, overly beery. "I have thoughts," he said. "I have a territorial imperative that I feel like exercising now and again."

"Get too imperative and this territory will declare some independence." Blair glared. Jim lifted one eyebrow and smiled. "But I'm open to negotiations." He pecked the tip of Blair's nose. "When your breath won't knock me out. Just as well we had the birthday sex this morning." He lay down. "Good night, Chief."

Jim turned the light out, and Blair lay there in a pleasantly buzzed fog, making a note of things: his intoxication (mild as these things went. He was looking forward to showing off his non-hangovered state to Jim the next morning.) and the great time they'd had with their friends; the smooth comfort of the bed linens; Jim's soft breathing next to him. All the good things in life, even Jim in ugly brown pants.

He woke the next morning feeling fine aside from a dose of cotton-mouth. And Jim, without a word and only a small smirk, chose to wear the pair of jeans that Blair liked best on him.

All the good things in life.


End file.
